Chapter II

THE PLAN—THOUGHT-GATHERING—ARRANGING—COMMITTING.

The logical order of sermon preparation is, first, to gather the materials of which it is composed; second, to select what is most fitting, and arrange the whole into perfect order; third, to fix this in the mind, thus making it available at the moment of use. These processes are not necessarily separated in practice, but may be best considered in the order indicated.

When we choose a subject for a sermon, and allow the mind to dwell upon it, it becomes a centre of attraction, and naturally draws all kindred ideas toward it. Old memories that have become dim in the lapse of time, are slowly hunted out and grouped around the parent thought, and each hour of study adds to the richness and variety of our stores. The relations between different and apparently widely-separated things become visible, just as new stars are seen when we gaze intently toward them. Everything that the mind possesses is subjected to a rigid scrutiny, and all that appears to bear any relation to the subject is brought into view. A considerable period of time is usually required for the completion of all this, and the longer it is continued the better, provided the interest felt is not abated.

Such continuous reaches of thought form a principal element in the superiority of one mind over another. Even the mightiest genius cannot, at a single impulse, exhaust the ocean of truth that opens around every object of man’s contemplation. And it is only by viewing a subject in every aspect, that we can guard against superficial and one-sided impressions. But the continued exertion and toil which this implies are nearly always distasteful, and the majority of men can accomplish it only by a stern resolve. This ability, whether acquired or natural, is one of prime necessity, and the young minister, at the very first, should learn to thoroughly investigate and finish every subject he undertakes, and continue the habit during life. This will generally determine the question of his success or failure, at least from an intellectual point of view. Thought is a mighty architect, and if you keep him fully employed, he will build up, with slow and measured strokes, a gorgeous and enduring edifice on any subject within your mental range. You may weary of his labor, and think the wall rises very slowly, and will never be completed, but wait. The work will be finished at last, and will be no ephemeral structure to be swept away by the first storm, but will stand unshaken on the basis of eternal truth.

M. Bautain compares the accumulation of thought around a subject, to the almost imperceptible development of organic life. Striking as is the illustration, there is one marked point of dissimilarity. The growth of thought is voluntary, and may be arrested at any stage. Even a cessation of conscious effort is fatal. To prevent this, and keep the mind employed until all its work is done, requires, with most persons, a regular and formal system. Profound thinkers, who take up a subject, and cannot leave it until it is traced into all its relations, and mastered in every part, and who have at the same time the power of long remembering the trains of thought that pass through their minds, may not need an artificial method. But these are exceptions to the general rule.

We will give a method we have found useful for securing sermon materials, and allow others to adopt it so far as it may prove advantageous to them.

Ideas are not always kept equally in view. Sometimes we may see one with great clearness, and after a little time lose it again, while another, at first invisible, comes into sight. Each one should be secured when it occurs. After the subject has been pondered for a sufficient length of time, write all the thoughts that are suggested on it, taking no care for the arrangement, but only putting down a word or brief sentence that will recall the idea intended. After everything that presents itself has thus been rendered permanent, the paper containing these items may be put away, and the subject recommitted to the mind. As other ideas arise, let them be recorded in the same way, and the process extended over days together. Sometimes new images and conceptions will continue to float into the mental horizon even for weeks. Most persons who have not tried this simple process, will be surprised to find how many thoughts they have on the commonest topic. If some of this gathered matter remains vague and indefinite, it will only be necessary to give it more time, more earnest thought, and all obscurity will vanish.

At last, there comes a consciousness that the mind’s power on that theme is exhausted. If we also feel that we possess all the requisite material, this part of our work is ended. But more frequently there will be a sense of incompleteness, and we are driven to seek what we need elsewhere.

The next step is the obtaining of new facts. We have thus far dealt with what the mind itself possesses, and have only sought to make that previously-accumulated knowledge fully available. But when this stage is reached, we hunger for more extended information. We read the works of those who have treated on the themes we are discussing, converse with well-informed persons, observe the world closely, and at last find the very idea we want. We receive it with joy, and from thenceforth it becomes a part of our being. We place the treasure on paper with other items, and continue to search until we have all we desire. It often happens that we do not find exactly the object of our search, but strike on some chain that guides us to it through the subtile principles of association. It is only the more welcome because we have thus traced it out.

We have on paper, at last, and often after much toil, a number of confused, unarranged notes. The whole mass relates to the subject, but much is unfitting, and all requires, by another process, to be cast into order and harmony. The first step in this direction is to omit everything not necessary to the purpose of the sermon. This is a matter of great importance. It has been said that the principal difference between a wise man and a fool is, that the one utters all his thoughts, while the other gives only his best to the world. Nearly every man has, at times, thoughts that would profit mankind, and if these are carefully selected from the puerilities by which they may be surrounded, the result cannot but be valuable. And if this cautious selection be needed on general topics, it is still more imperative in the ministry of the Word. The preacher must beware of giving anything repugnant to the spirit of his mission. And the necessity of a purpose running through his whole discourse, which we have before enlarged on, compels him to strike out each item at variance with it. It is well to carefully read over our scattered notes after the fervor of composition has subsided, and erase all that are unfitting. Sometimes this will leave very few ideas remaining, and we are obliged to search for others to complete the sermon. This can be continued until we have gathered a sufficient mass of clearly connected thoughts to accomplish the object in view.

Next follows the task of constructing the plan for the intended sermon. Unless this is well done, success is impossible. The mightiest results are obtained in oratory by the slow process of words, one following another. Each one should bear forward the current of thought in the right direction, and be a help to all that follow. And as, in extempore speech, these words are given forth on the spur of the moment, it becomes necessary to so arrange that the proper thought to be dissolved into words, may always be presented to the mind at the right time.

In some cases this disposition of parts is quite easy. A course indicated by the very nature of the subject will spring into view, and relieve us of further embarrassment. But often this portion of our task will require severe thought.

Many different kinds of plans have been specified by writers on Homiletics. We will be contented with four divisions, based on the mode of construction.

The first, we may call the narrative method. It is principally used when some scripture history forms the basis of the sermon. In it the different parts of the plan are arranged according to the order of time, except when some particular reason, borrowed from the other methods, intervenes. When there are few or none of these portions which give it a composite character, the development proceeds with all the simplicity of a story. Many beautiful sermons have been thus constructed.

A second method is the textual. Each part of the sermon rests on some of the words or clauses of the text, and these suggest the order of its unfolding, although they may be changed to make it correspond more nearly to the narrative, or the logical methods. This kind of plan has an obvious advantage in assisting the memory by suggesting each part at the proper time.

The logical method is the third we will describe. A topic is taken, and without reference to the order of time or the words of the text, is unfolded as a proposition in Geometry—each thought being preliminary to that which follows, and the whole ending in the demonstration of some great truth, and the deduction of its legitimate corollaries. This method is exceedingly valuable in many cases, if not pressed too far.

The last method, and the one employed more frequently than all the others, is the divisional. It is the military arrangement, for in it the whole sermon is organized like an army. All the detached items are brought into related groups, each governed by a principal thought, and these again are held in strict subordination to the supreme idea; or, to change the figure, the entire mass resembles a tree, with its single trunk, its branches subdivided into smaller ones, and all covered with a beautiful robe of leaves, that rounds its form into graceful outlines, even as the flow of words harmonizes our prepared thoughts, into the unity of a living discourse.

A subject will many times arrange itself almost spontaneously into several different parts, which thus form the proper divisions, and these again may be easily analyzed into their subdivisions. Even when this is not the case, we will see, as we examine our jottings, that a few of the ideas stand out in especial prominence, and with a little close study of relations and affinities, all the others may be made to group themselves around these. The individual ideas which we put down on the first study of the subject, usually form the subdivisions, and some generalization of them the divisions.

It is well not to make the branches of a subject too numerous, or they will introduce confusion, and fail to be remembered. From two to four divisions, with two or three subdivisions under each, are in a majority of cases better than a larger number. The tendency to multiply them almost infinitely, which was formerly very prevalent, and is still too common, receives a merciless, but well-deserved rebuke from Stephens, in his “Preaching Required by the Times.” He is criticising a popular “Preacher’s Manual”:

“These more than six hundred pages are devoted exclusively to the technicalities of sermonizing. We almost perspire as we trace down the tables of contents. Our eye is arrested by the ‘divisions’ of a subject—and here we have no less than ‘nine kinds of divisions:’ the ‘Exegetical Division,’ the ‘Accommodational Division,’ the ‘Regular Division,’ the ‘Interrogative Division,’ the ‘Observational Division,’ the ‘Propositional Division,’ etc.; and then come the ‘Rise from Species to Genus,’ the ‘Descent from Genus to Species.’ And then again we have exordiums: ‘Narrative Exordiums,’ ‘Expository Exordiums,’ ‘Argumentative Exordiums,’ ‘Observational Exordiums,’ ‘Applicatory Exordiums,’ ‘Topical Exordiums,’ and, alas for us! even ‘Extra-Topical Exordiums.’ One’s thoughts turn away from a scene like this spontaneously to the Litany, and query if there should not be a new prayer there.

“But this is not all. Here are about thirty stubborn pages to tell you how to make a _comment_ on your text, and we have the ‘Eulogistic Comment’ and the ‘Dislogistic Comment,’ (turn to your dictionary, reader; we cannot stop in the race to define), ‘Argumentative Comment’ and the ‘Contemplative Comment,’ the ‘Hyperbolical Comment,’ the ‘Interrogative Comment,’ and the list tapers off at last with what it ought to have begun and ended with, the ‘Expository Comment.’

“And even this is not all. Here is a section on the ‘Different kinds of Address,’ and behold the astute analysis: ‘The Appellatory, the Entreating, the Expostulatory, the Remedial, the Directive, the Encouraging, the Consoling, the Elevating, the Alarming, the Tender, the Indignant, the Abrupt.’

“This is the way that the art ‘Homiletic’ would teach us when and how to be ‘Tender,’ ‘Indignant,’ ‘Consoling,’ and even ‘Abrupt!’ ‘Nonsense!’

“Yes, ‘nonsense!’ says any man of good sense in looking at this folly: a folly which would be less lamentable if it could only be kept to the homiletic professor’s chair, but which has still an almost characteristic effect on pulpit eloquence—not only on the _form_ of the sermon, but as a natural consequence on its very _animus_. This tireless author gives all these outlines as _practical_ prescriptions. He even presents them in a precise formula. We must yield to the temptation to quote it. ‘There are,’ he says, ‘certain technical signs employed to distinguish the several parts of a discourse. The first class consists of the _principal divisions_, marked in Roman letters, thus: I., II., III., IV., etc. Next, the _subdivisions of the first class_, in figures, 1, 2, 3, etc. Under these, _subdivisions of the second class_, marked with a curve on the right, as 1), 2), 3), etc. Then, _subdivisions of the third class_, marked with two curves, as (1), (2), (3), etc.; and under these, _subdivisions of the fourth class_, in crotchets, thus: [1], [2], [3]. As—

“I. Principal division.
1. Subdivision of first class.
1). Subdivision of second class.
(1). Subdivision of third class.
[1]. Subdivision of fourth class.

“Mathematical this, certainly; some of Euclid’s problems are plainer. As a ‘demonstration’ is obviously necessary, the author proceeds to give the outline of a sermon on ‘_The Diversity of Ministerial Gifts_,’ from the text ‘_Now there are Diversities of Gifts_,’ etc. He has but two ‘General Divisions,’ but makes up for their paucity by a generous allowance of ‘Subdivisions.’ His ‘General Divisions’ are, I. _Exemplify the Truth of the Text_. II. _Derive some Lessons of Instruction_, etc.,—an arrangement simple and suitable enough for any popular audience, if he were content with it, but under the first head he has two ‘subdivisions,’ the first of which is reduced to _thirteen_ sub-subdivisions, and one of these thirteen again to _seven_ sub-sub-subdivisions! The second of his subdivisions again divided into _eight_ sub-subdivisions, while the ‘homily’ (alas for the name!) is completed by a merciless slashing of the second ‘general division’ into no less than _eight_ subdivisions. The honest author, when he takes breath at the end, seems to have some compunctious misgivings about this infinitesimal mincing of a noble theme, and reminds the amazed student that though the plan should be followed ‘in the composition of a sermon,’ the ‘minor divisions’ can be concealed from view in preaching; and he concludes the medley of nonsense with one sensible and very timely admonition: ‘If a discourse contain a considerable number of divisions and subdivisions,’ care should be taken to fill up the respective parts with suitable matter, or it will be, indeed, a mere _skeleton_—bones strung together—‘very many and very dry!’”

When we have accumulated our materials, stricken out all not needed, and determined what shall be the character of our plan, the remainder of the work must be left to individual taste and judgment. No rules can be given that will meet every case. We might direct to put first what is most easily comprehended, what is necessary for understanding other portions, and also what is least likely to be disputed. But beyond these obvious directions little aid can be given. The preacher must form his own ideal, and work up to it. He may profitably examine sermon skeletons, to learn what such forms should be. And when he hears good discourses he may look beneath the burning words, and see what are the merits of the frame-work on which they rest. This may render him dissatisfied with his own achievements, but such dissatisfaction is the best pledge of earnest effort for higher results.

A certain means of improvement is to bestow a great deal of time and thought on the formation of plans, and make no disposition of any part without a satisfactory reason. If this course is faithfully continued, the power to arrange properly will be acquired, and firm, coherent, and logical sermons be constructed.

There are certain characteristics that each sermon skeleton should possess. It must indicate the nature of the discourse, and mark out each of its steps with accuracy. Any want of definiteness is a fatal defect. The orator must feel that he can rely absolutely on it for guidance to the end of his discourse, or be in perpetual danger of embarrassment and confusion. Each clause should express a distinct idea, and but one. If it contain anything that is included under another head, we fall into wearisome repetition, the great danger of extempore preachers. But if discordant and disconnected thoughts are grouped together, we are liable to forget some of them, and in returning, destroy the order of the sermon.

A brief plan is better than a long one. Often a single word will recall an idea as perfectly as many sentences would do, and will burden the memory less. We do not expect the draft of a house to equal the building in size, but only to indicate the position and proportion of its apartments. The plan cannot supply the thought, but, indicating what exists in the mind, it shows how to bring it forth in regular order. It is a pathway leading to a definite end, and like all roads, its crowning merits are directness and smoothness. Without these, it will perplex and hinder rather than aid. Every word in the plan should express, or assist in expressing an idea, and be so firmly bound to it that the two cannot be separated by any exigency of speech. It is perplexing in the heat of discourse to have a prepared note lose the idea attached to it, and become merely an empty word. But if the conception is clear, and the most fitting term has been chosen to embody it, this cannot easily happen. A familiar idea may be noted very briefly, while one that is new requires to be more fully expressed. Most sermon skeletons may be brought within the compass of a hundred words, and every part be clear to the mind that conceived it, though, perhaps not comprehensible by any other.

It is not always best to present the divisions and subdivisions in preaching. The congregation do not care how a sermon has been constructed, provided it comes to them warm and pulsating with life. To give the plan of a sermon before the sermon itself, is contrary to the analogy of nature. She does not require us to look upon a grisly skeleton before we can see a living body. It is no less objectionable to name the parts and numbers of the sketch during the discourse, for bones that project through the skin are very uncomely. The people will not suffer, if we keep all the divisions to ourselves, for they are only professional devices to render our share of the work easier. Much of the proverbial “dryness” of sermons arises from displaying all the processes we employ. A hotel that would have its beef killed and dressed before its guests at dinner, would not be likely to retain its patronage. Whenever we hear a minister state his plan in full, and take up “firstly” and announce the subdivisions under it, we prepare our patience for a severe test.

What the people need, are deep, strong appeals to their hearts, through which shines the lightning of great truths, and the sword of God’s spirit smites—not dry, dull divisions through which “it is easy to follow the preacher”—a compliment often given, but always equivocal. A tree is far more beautiful when covered with waving foliage, even if some of the branches are hidden. Let the stream of eloquence sweep on in an unbroken flow, bearing with it all hearts, but giving no indication of the manner in which it is guided; or, better still, let it move with the impetus of the cannon ball, overthrowing everything in its path, but not proclaiming in advance the mark toward which it is flying!

We should go as far in the plan as we intend to do in the sermon, and know just where to stop. Then we arise with confidence, for we are sure that we have something to say; we know what it is; and most important of all, we will know when it is finished. Most objections against extempore preaching apply only to discourses that have no governing plan. When this is firm and clear, there is no more danger of saying what we do not intend, or of running into endless digressions, than if we wrote every word. Indeed there is no better way to compose a written sermon, than by first arranging a plan.

But it may be urged that this laborious preparation—this careful placing of every thought—will require as much time as to write in full. It may at first. The mind needs to be trained in the work, and it will be of great advantage even as a mental discipline. But it grows easier with practice, until the preparation of two sermons a week will not be felt as a burden—will only afford grateful topics of thought while busied at other labor. The direct toil of a mature preacher may not exceed an hour per week.

The sermon is now clearly indicated. A plan has been prepared that fixes each thought to be expressed in its proper place. There is no further danger of the looseness and desultoriness that are not unfrequently supposed to be peculiar to extemporaneous speech. It is possible, in the moment of utterance, to leave the beaten track, and give expression to any new ideas that may be suggested. But there is a sure foundation laid—a course marked out that has been deeply premeditated, and which gives certainty to all we say.

But it is not enough to have the plan on paper. As it came from the mind at first in detached items, it must, in its completed state, be restored to it again. Some ministers are not willing to take the trouble of committing their skeletons to memory, but lay the paper before them, and speak on one point until that is exhausted, and then look up the next, which is treated in the same manner. This tends powerfully to impair the unity of the discourse, which should he unbroken, and to make each note the theme of a short, independent dissertation, rather than an integral part of the whole. The minister reaches a point where he does not know what is to come next, and on the brink of that gulf looks down at his notes, and after a search, perhaps finds what he wants. Had this latter thought existed in his mind, it would have been taken notice of in time, and the close of the preceding one bent into harmony with it. The direct address of the preacher to the people, which they value so much, is interfered with in the same way, for his eye must rest, part of the time, on his notes. The divisions also of the sermon are apt to be mentioned, for it is hard for the tongue to refrain from pronouncing the words that the eye is glancing over.

For all these reasons we believe that notes should seldom, if ever, be used in the pulpit. They remedy none of the acknowledged defects of extempore speaking, but add to them the coldness and formality of reading. Those who cannot trust the mind alone had better go further, and read their sermons with what earnestness they can command, and thus secure the elegant finish supposed to be attainable only in written compositions.

But not all who use notes thus abuse them. Many employ them merely to prevent possible forgetfulness, and perhaps do not look at them once during the sermon. Yet it is still better to carry them in the pocket, and thus avoid the appearance of servile dependence, while they would still guard against such a misfortune as befel the Abbe Bautain, who, on ascending the pulpit to preach before the French king and court, found that he had forgotten the subject, plan and text!

By committing the plan to memory the mind takes possession of the whole subject. It is brought into one view, and if any part is inconsistent with the main discussion, the defect will be seen at once. If the plan is properly constructed, the mind is then in the best possible condition for speech. The object is fixed in the heart, and will fire it to earnestness and zeal, and the subject is spread out before the mind’s eye, while the two meet and mingle in such a way as to give life and vitality to every part. This is just what is needed in true preaching. The speaker’s soul, heated by the contemplation of his object, penetrates every part of his theme, investing it with an interest that compels attention. All the power he possesses is brought to bear directly on the people. We can scarcely imagine a great reformer—one who has shaken the nations—to have adopted any other method of address. Think of Xavier or Luther with their notes spread out before them, while addressing the multitudes who hung on their lips! The Presbyterian elder who once prayed in the presence of his note-using pastor: “O Lord! teach thy servants to speak from the heart to the heart, and not from a little piece of paper, as the manner of some is!” was not far wrong.

It is well to commit the plan to memory a considerable time before entering the pulpit. There is then less liability of forgetting some portion of it, and it takes more complete possession of the mind. This is less important when we preach on subjects with which we are perfectly familiar, for then “out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh.” But we are not always so favored. Even if the salient features are well known, some of the minor parts may require close consideration. This cannot be so well bestowed until after the plan is completely prepared, for before that time there is danger that much of our attention may be given to some idea which may be ultimately rejected, or changed with the plan. But when the plan is finished, each idea has settled into its place. If obscurity still rests anywhere, it will be seen at once, and the strength of the mind brought to bear on that particular point. The impressions then made are easily retained, because associated with a part of the prepared outline. Such deep meditation on each division of the sermon can scarcely fail to make it original in the truest sense of the term, and weave it together with strong and massive thought.

After the plan is committed to memory, we can meditate on its different portions, not only at the desk, but everywhere. As we walk from place to place, or lie on our beds, or at any time find our minds free from other engagements, we can ponder the ideas that cluster around our subject until they grow perfectly familiar. Even when we are reading, brilliant thoughts may spring up, or those we possessed before take stronger and more definite shape.

This course we would strongly urge on the young speaker. If diligently followed, it will be invaluable. Arrange the plan from which to speak as clearly as may be, and memorize it; turn it over and over again; ponder each idea and the manner of bringing it out; study the connection between all the parts, until the whole, from beginning to end, appears perfectly plain and simple. This method of preparation has been so fully tested by experience, that its effectiveness is no longer questionable.

It is important to grasp the whole subject, as nearly as possible, in a single idea—in the same way that the future tree is compressed in the germ from which it springs. Then this one thought will suggest the entire discourse to the speaker, and at its conclusion will be left clear and positive on the hearer’s mind. It is true that some acute auditors may outrun a loose speaker, arrange his scattered fragments, supply his omissions, and arrive at the idea which has not yet formed itself in his own mind. Such persons often commend preachers who are incomprehensible to the majority of their audience. But it is not safe to trust their applause for they are exceedingly apt to be in the minority.

After the plan is memorized, it is often of advantage to sketch the discourse in full; if this is done in long hand, there is danger that its slowness will make it more of a word-study than what it is intended to be—a test of ideas. Here short hand is valuable; and its use in this manner will at once detect anything that may be wrong in the plan, for if all is well arranged there need be no pause in the most rapid composition. If we are able at one effort to throw the whole into a dress of words, we can be confident that with the additional stimulus supplied by the presence of a congregation, it will be easy to do the same again. There should be no attempt, at the time of speaking, to recall the terms used in writing, but our command of language is usually improved by having so lately used many of the terms we will need again. Frequently there are fine passages in the sermons thus struck off at white heat which we would not willingly forget, yet it is better to make no effort to remember them, for we are almost certain to rise even higher in the excitement of speech.

Those who cannot write at a speed approaching that of the tongue, and who wish a little more assistance than is furnished by the plan, can make a brief sketch of it—a compact and intelligible model of the whole subject. A discourse that requires an hour in delivery may be compressed into a wonderfully small compass, without a material thought being omitted or obscurely indicated. Such a sketch differs from the plan in clearly expressing all the ideas that underlie the discourse, while the latter would be unintelligible to any but the writer. The one is only a few marks thrown out into the field of thought, by which an intended pathway is indicated; the other is an exceedingly brief view of the thoughts themselves, without adornment or verbiage. Some speakers who might feel insecure in trusting the notes and hints of the plan, would feel free to enlarge on a statement of their thoughts, so brief as to require only two or three minutes for reading. But this is only an expedient, and need not be adopted by those who have confidence in their trained and cultivated powers.

The method of committing to memory a skeleton for the purpose of securing our accumulations, is widely different from the systems of Mnemonics that were once so current. Ideas are linked together by natural, not artificial associations. It is the grasping of one thought that points to another, or dissolves, as we gaze upon it, into minuter ones, and is, in most instances, based upon that rigid analysis which cannot be dispensed with even by those who would think exactly. All who write their sermons would do well to adopt it. Strict analysis and broad generalization are the foundation of all science, and if the preacher builds upon them the world of spiritual truth will yield him its treasures.

After a plan has been fully prepared it may easily be preserved for future use, by being copied into a book kept for the purpose, or, what is more convenient in practice, folded into an envelope, with the subject written on the back. By the latter means a large number may be preserved in such form as to be readily consulted. These can be improved as our knowledge increases, so as to be, at any time, the complete expression of our ability on the theme treated of.